


Salted Earth

by queenseamoose



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenseamoose/pseuds/queenseamoose
Summary: The morning after Richard Hughes’ yacht explodes, the Saints begin to crumble. One small-time member is witness to their destruction.





	1. Wednesday, May 30th, 2007

The hum of the TV woke Natalie, and when she opened her eyes, the light filtering in from the blinds was still pale blue. She turned her face into the crook of her arm, burrowing deeper into the ancient sofa, but when she heard Kyle beginning to fuss in the other room, any hope for a few more hours of sleep dissolved on the spot. So she sat up instead, drawing the worn blanket around her shoulders as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

The TV screen was filled with images of smoke and flames, Jane Valderama looking polished and unperturbed as ever as she stood against the grim backdrop in a crisp white blazer. Yet another disaster downtown—big surprise. The remote was nowhere in sight, but she could start looking for it, the bathroom door creaked and Aaron stepped into the kitchen.

“You’re up early,” he commented as he opened the refrigerator. “The baby wake you up?”

“What else?” she groaned, wrinkling her nose, and Aaron chuckled.

“Any updates?” he asked, pointing at the TV.

“Huh?” She glanced back over her shoulder to see an image of a helicopter rescuing a man from the top of billboard, but when she turned back to Aaron, his face only showed disappointment.

“The explosion.” He took a quick swig of orange juice, and stowed the carton back in the refrigerator before continuing. “Alderman Hughes’ yacht. Happened last night, and they’re saying it’s no accident. Last I checked there was only one survivor, but they’re still searching the water.”

Natalie frowned. “ _Was_ it an accident?” she asked cautiously, remembering the events of the past week—but Aaron only laughed.

“If not, nobody told me.” Pocketing a granola bar, he headed for the door. “I’m heading to the church. If you leave and I’m not here when you get back, just text Brady or Jena.” And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall, followed by the slam of the stairwell door.

A series of minor traffic accidents was flickering across the TV screen now, and Natalie found herself growing bored—but before she could resume her search for the remote, she heard the creak of a door down the hallway. Groaning silently to herself, she turned to face Jena as she bustled into the kitchen, Kyle on her hip.

“Thought I heard Aaron talking to someone,” she remarked, plunking the baby into the high chair. “I didn’t know you stayed here last night.”

“Yeah, Brady let me in when he stopped by.” Natalie drew her knees up to her chest, and fought the urge to scream as Jena picked up the remote from the countertop and flipped the channel to a children’s program.

Jena lifted an eyebrow, a vague gesture of disapproval that ground away at her already-thin patience. “That must have been late,” she said pointedly.

“I guess?” Natalie folded her arms on the back of the sofa, resting her chin as she watched Jena preparing Kyle’s breakfast. “Does it matter?”

“I’m just saying.” Jena set a bowl of cereal on the tray of the highchair as she reached for a banana.

Natalie rolled her eyes “Well, it had to matter, didn’t it? Or else you wouldn’t have said it.” Even she could hear the edge creeping into her tone, and Jena’s face had darkened.

“Geez, Natalie.” She shook her head as she lifted a spoonful to Kyle’s mouth.  “You’re sixteen and you’re out alone on the streets in the middle of the night. Sorry for being worried.”

“I’m seventeen, actually, but thanks for the concern.” The words sounded harsher coming out than they had in her head, and Jena looked startled. She opened her mouth as though to reply, then closed it.

“Whatever,” said wearily, shooing Kyle’s hand away from the edge of the bowl. “I’m too tired to do this right now.” Natalie sighed, hauling herself off the couch and padding toward the bathroom, but Jena’s voice followed her. “And just so you know, there’s no hot water.”

She froze in her tracks at that, whirling around to face Jena. “Seriously?” The prospect of a hot shower had been half the reason she’d allowed Brady to convince her to stay last night.

“Don’t look at me.” Jena shrugged. “Call the landlord and ask yourself if it means that much to you. I don’t really care.”

Gritting her teeth together, Natalie stomped back over to the couch, scraping her greasy hair back into a ponytail as she did so. It only took a moment to yank on her shoes and scoop up her backpack. “I’m going to the church,” she said as she yanked open the door. Jena might have called something after her, but if so, she didn’t hear as she fled down the hallway toward the stairwell.

* * *

The walk to the church wasn’t far, but by the time she turned onto Third Street, the sun was bright overhead, and she could already feel perspiration trickling between her shoulder blades. Summer was here, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t thrilled about it. Maybe tonight she’d have to brave the cold water at Aaron’s.

She took her time as she meandered through the graveyard, pausing to read names on the crumbling stone or watch the squirrels chase each other up the trees. There was no rush—no one she knew would be here at this time of day. Aaron would be long gone by now, and with her luck, someone would rope her into helping with some errand, and there would go her entire day.

She found herself at the top of the church steps all too quickly, but as she reached for the handle, the door abruptly burst outward. She leapt out of the way, but it still caught her elbow as a figure followed close behind it, barging past her. “Hey!” she protested—but before she could object further, she recognized Johnny Gat storming down the steps.

Johnny was a live wire of fury, hands bunched into fists at his sides and his hair standing on end more than ever. He didn’t look back as he marched over to a nearby car and got in, slamming the door before tearing off dawn the street, tires squealing.

Natalie stood watching from the shadow of a pillar, absently rubbing her injured elbow. Surprisingly, this was her first ever interaction with Johnny. She knew who he was, of course—everyone did—and she’d seen him around the church before, but she’d never actually come face to face with him. And from the stories she’d heard, she was lucky to come away with nothing more than a bruised elbow. Wait until she told Aaron about this.

She wandered into the church, half typing out a text as she did so, and she almost didn’t look up—if she hadn’t caught her toe on the edge of an upended pew while trying to correct the S she’d accidentally turned into a P, she wouldn’t have. But when she did, she got the start of her life when she realized the room that was supposed to be empty was filled with what appeared to be half of the Saints.“What’s going on?”

Every head in the room whipped in her direction, accompanied by angry glares. “ _Shhhhhh!_ ” half of them hissed, and then she heard it, the electronic buzzing of the ancient TV in the midst. She elbowed her way closer, ignoring grumbles of protest, until she could make out the flickering image on the screen: Jane Valderama standing in front of a familiar smoking ruin—the yacht explosion Aaron had been talking about this morning. The sound was even more distorted than the picture, more static than actual words, but Natalie caught something about the only survivor and the prime suspect. And then the photo flash up on the screen.

The picture showed a lighter, happier version of the stony-faced girl Natalie had seen around the church, but she recognized the de facto leader of the Saints immediately. So did the others around her, as the room instantly erupted with voices.

“See?”

“I told you!”

“I don’t get it, why didn’t anyone tell us about this?”

“It wasn’t planned.” Aaron’s voice floated above the rest, and Natalie tore her gaze away from the TV to see him standing across the circle. “Gat would’ve known if it was.”

“So then what the fuck is going on?” And then noise rose to a deafening echo: confusion, anger, and every emotion in between swirling through the group like a hurricane.

“Natalie!” She jumped as Aaron suddenly appeared in her vision, his hand closing on her arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, jerking her arm free. He rolled his eyes, but relented.

“Fine. Come on,” he repeated. “We’ve got work to do.”

She was seething, but she followed him out of the church regardless. “Why me?” she complained bitterly as they stepped out into the sunlight. “Can’t you get someone else to do it?”

“Nope.” He pointed toward the passenger side of his battered truck as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “They’re all busy arguing, and we’ve got rent due. Now let’s go.”

He was already backing out into the street before she slammed the door behind her her, and she didn’t even get a chance to buckle her seatbelt before he tossed his phone into her lap. “Call Brady,” he instructed, taking a corner a little too sharply and eliciting a muffled curse from a pedestrian stepping out into the crosswalk.

Natalie scowled as she struggled with the seatbelt, but when it wouldn’t click into place, she abandoned it, anchoring herself against the door handle with her free hand as she scrolled through Aaron’s contacts. “No answer,” she said after several minutes of ringing, but Aaron shook his head.

“Try again.” His eyes were glued to the road, and his attention didn’t even falter when she let out an unnecessarily heavy sigh.

“He’s still not picking up,” she said when Brady’s voicemail message began for the second time.

“He will eventually. Keep going until he answers.”

And sure enough, it took four more unanswered calls before the voice of a very irritated Brady flooded through the speaker. “This better be good,” he snarled, and she cringed.

“Brady, it’s Natalie,” she said quickly. “Aaron wants to talk to you.” Aaron’s outstretched hand was already open, and she hurriedly pushed the phone back to him.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, making a face as he slightly brought the phone away from his ear. Natalie glanced out the window to hide her smirk—she could hear Brady clearly from here, and he was _not_ happy. “Look, I’m not fucking around here. Get your boyfriend on the phone and ask if they’ve brought anyone in from the explosion.”

She couldn’t hear Brady’s reply, but Aaron let out a heaving sigh of frustration on par with one of hers. “The alderman’s yacht, idiot, the only one that matters. Check the damn news once in a while.”

There was a moment of silence, and when she glanced back over, Aaron’s expression had softened slightly. “I don’t know,” he finally said, and for a moment, he appeared to falter. “Just…let me know what you find out.” He snapped the phone shut, and several minutes passed before he spoke.

“We’re looking for a Westbury, by the way,” he said. “With muscle rims, or there’s no point bringing it in. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Natalie nodded absentmindedly, but her thoughts were anywhere but on tricked-out minvans. “Aaron,” she finally said. “Do we need to be worried?”

“I dunno,” he muttered, glancing out the window. “All I’m saying is it’s been over a week. We’ve taken precautions. And there’s still no sign of Julius, and now his new second in command is getting blown up alongside the last living guy behind it all?” He shook his head. “Just seems fishy, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a reassuring answer. But Aaron was suddenly swerving across three lanes to follow a Westbury, and her attention shifted back to the task at hand. But the unrest at the church left her with an uneasy feeling, and somehow, she got the sense that all of this was far from over.


	2. Friday, June 1st, 2007

Natalie never thought she’d be glad to be back on Aaron’s couch. Then again, she’d never imagined just how bad the previous night would have been. Aaron’s foul mood from Wednesday had continued throughout their heist, and after pocketing her cut from the Westbury, she’d immediately parted ways with him, fully intending to sleep at the church. However, compared to the rest of the gang, Aaron was handling recent events remarkably well. She’d barely spent an hour there, instead passing the night at a bus stop, and Brady had discovered her on his way to work. He, of course, insisted she head to the apartment, and she’d been too tired to argue. And with the other occupants gone, she’d slept away the afternoon in blissful silence.

Now, in the wee hours of the morning, she was wide awake—as were Brady and Aaron. She tried to pull the blanket around her head to drown out the sound, but she could still hear their hushed voices in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron was saying—a phrase he’d been repeating nonstop since his phone conversation with James the night before. “I didn’t know she was your friend.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Brady muttered. “And I dunno, friend isn’t the right word. Not since we were kids, at least. We did a few jobs together last year, but she got mixed up in some heavy shit and then…”

“Yeah, I get it.” She could hear his footsteps on the linoleum floor as he resumed his pacing. “I’m gonna kill Dex,” he fumed, and Natalie’s blood began to boil at the mention of the name—or in other words, another reason she’d gotten no sleep last night. The explosion was one thing—people didn’t _ask_ to get blown up—but the Saints’ most brilliant lieutenant dropping his flags in a time of crisis was another entirely. “And where the fuck is Troy?!” Actually, the reasons were just piling up now. If only she had anywhere to go other than the church and this damn apartment.

“I’m actually starting to worry about Troy,” Brady admitted. “When was the last time anyone saw him?”

Aaron sighed. “Couple weeks ago? Not like I’ve been keeping track.” She heard the whir of the motor as the refrigerator door opened, and then the pop and hiss of a beer can being opened. “I’m going out for a smoke. You coming?”

Brady mumbled a reply, and then the front door slammed and their footsteps were echoing off down the hall.

Natalie dared to lift her head from the blankets, and sighed peacefully at the blissful silence. She was tired—tired of hearing about all this, and tired of living it. Gang leaders killed each other all the time. Why was nobody prepared for this? Somebody had to take charge, but with all the lieutenants either disappearing or, in Gat’s case, having a full-scale meltdown, there didn’t seem to be any end in sight to the chaos.

The creak of a door at the end of the hall pulled her from her thoughts, and she ducked her head back down into the blankets as she saw a shadow approaching. Jena didn’t seem to notice her as she tiptoed into the living room, and Natalie watched through cracked eyes as she paused by the window and lifted her phone to her ear.

“Hey,” she whispered after several moments of silence passed. “It’s me again. Where are you?” She began to pace, a furrow appearing between her brows. “Everyone’s worried sick. And word’s spreading, I’ve already had three deliveries turn out to be no-shows.” She hesitated, and although Natalie couldn’t see her face, she heard the break in her voice.

“Please, Troy. Things are getting bad, we need you. Just…call me back. Please.” She closed her phone and stood silently in the darkness for a moment, face buried in the palm of her hand. Then she headed back down the hall, Natalie’s eyes quickly blinking shut as she passed, and there was the sound of the bedroom door quietly shutting behind her.

Natalie turned over onto her back, folding her arms behind her head and letting out a breath. That was the other catch to all of this—the secret she’d been keeping for Jena. A month or so back, she’d turned a corner not far from the church into a semi-deserted parking lot. And there, in the lone car, she’d spotted Jena—in Troy’s lap.

She’d immediately turned and walked the other way, and she hadn’t breathed a word to another living soul. But in the following weeks she’d found herself watching, although she’d never seen them together before and she hadn’t since. In her occasional glimpses of Troy, he seemed to be his usual self, but she’d noticed Jena frequently texting with a rare smile on her face—and she _was_ especially protective of her phone. And she often came home late, although that didn’t mean much—between her work with the Saints and her actual job, she kept odd hours. But Natalie kept catching a whiff of cigarettes as she crept to her room—and to the best of her knowledge, Jena had never smoked.

So if Jena couldn’t reach him, she had a feeling they wouldn’t be seeing him again. And with Lin dead, Dex gone, Johnny losing his shit and Abby in a coma…

Funny enough, she hadn’t even known her name until yesterday. She shifted again, rolling to face the faded back of the couch. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with the urge to be back in her own bed, although she’d had no desire to be in that house at all in well over a year. She kicked off the blanket, but the air in the apartment was still hot and stifling, and she couldn’t stand to stay another second inside.

Tugging on her shoes, she headed for the door, hoisting up her backpack as she went. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she could feel the imprint of the couch’s fabric on the side of her face, but she didn’t care—she just needed to be out. The stairwell was even worse than the apartment, but the moment she stepped out into the night air, she instantly felt better.

“Hey,” she heard someone say behind her. “Natalie!” She recognized Aaron’s voice, but she kept walking. “Where are you going?”

“To get ice cream,” she called back over her shoulder. In truth, she had no destination in mind, but the last thing she wanted to deal with right now was Aaron’s smothering over-protectiveness.

“It’s three in the morning!” She ignored him, fleeing along the street into the darkness. There were rapid footsteps behind her, and she braced herself, a retort on her lips as she turned, but instead of Aaron, there was Brady jogging up the street.

“The gas station’s 24 hours,” he said by way of explanation, falling in step beside her. “I’m out of cigarettes.”

Her protest faded away as she clamped her jaw shut, her footsteps falling heavier than usual. As hard as Brady was taking this, his presence was even less welcome than Aaron’s at the moment. His expression was blank in the dim glare of the streetlights, but she had to say _something_ —didn’t she?

“I’m sorry about Abby,” she began awkwardly, but Brady frowned.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, and then the most magical words she could have imagined came from his mouth: “I’m really over talking about it.”

Well then. That suited her just fine. She relaxed a little then, and they walked along in silence until the gas station lights came into view.

“Pick your poison,” Brady said as they entered, pointing to the freezer. “I’ll buy.” Not like she was going to complain about that. He headed for the counter, leaving her to ponder the contents of the freezer. She finally decided on a rocket-shaped popsicle, and lingered for a moment as she reached into the cool air, wishing she could just crawl inside.

Brady was waiting as she set it down on the counter, and within moments they were outside again. “You can take my keys if you want,” Brady said as they crossed the street, stopping to lean against the side of an abandoned building. “I can’t go back yet.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. He gestured to the wall beside him, and she too leaned against it, tearing the wrapper from her popsicle as Brady fished in his pocket for a lighter.

They stood in silence for a while, until she was left holding a stick and Brady was flicking away the last of the ash. “I’m going back,” he said, grinding out the spark against the sidewalk. “Are you coming?”

She hesitated. “No,” she said finally, and to her relief, Brady only nodded.

“Take the keys,” he said, tossing them to her. “Jena and I are both working tomorrow, and you know Aaron’ll be at the church.”

“Thank you,” she said, although the popsicle was long forgotten. Peace and quiet were what she desperately needed, yet no one ever seemed to understand that.

Brady smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t mention it.” And then he was gone, and she was headed off down the street again. The church graveyard would be empty, and there were only a few more hours until morning.


	3. Tuesday, June 12th, 2007

There really was no worse time to try and watch TV than a Tuesday afternoon, Natalie decided as she flipped through Aaron’s limited channel selection for what felt like the fortieth time. Just the news, really, a few old reruns, and worst of all, children’s programs. She shuddered as she flipped past yet another one. So much for a nice afternoon all to herself.

Bored, she cycled through again, finally settling on The Anna Show. Her mother had never allowed it on in their home—sensationalist trash, she’d called it—but at the moment, it seemed her most promising option as far as entertainment. And just her luck, a new episode was starting, and she set aside the remote, taking a sip of her soda as she settled in.

“Hi, and welcome to the show,” Anna was saying. “My guest today is a man who’s turned some heads recently, thanks to his restorative work in Saints Row, but I’ll let him tell you about that himself. Ladies and gentlemen, Ultor’s Head of Special Projects, Mr. Dane Vogel!”

The camera cut to her guest, a man in an expensive-looking suit with overly-styled hair and a wide, predatory grin. And although she’d never seen him before, something about him immediately set Natalie on edge. She’d met plenty of guys like him before—namely the string of them who’d tried to date her mother.

“Thank you, Anna,” Dane said, flashing his too-bright teeth to the audience. “It’s an honor to be here today.

“No, thank _you_ , Dane,” Anna cooed with a coy wink. The audience broke into uproarious laughter, and Natalie snickered. Now this was entertainment.

“Now some critics have accused you of destroying historical architecture and displacing the poor following commencement of new Ultor construction this week.  What do you have to tell us about that?”

“Well to start with, ‘historical architecture’ is a term being used loosely here. We’re not talking about any buildings of historical significance—these were badly deteriorated houses, and the hazards we found in there? Termites, mold, asbestos…you name it.” He shook his head. “We did the public a favor.”

“And speaking of the public.” Anna leaned forward. “Do you agree with critics’ claims that Ultor’s actions are driving up homelessness rates in Saints Row?”

Dane scoffed. “Not at all. These people were drug dealers and criminals—Saints Row is now safer for it.”

The jingle of keys in the lock distracted her from Anna’s response, and she looked up to see Jena bustling through the door, Kyle on her hip. “Oh thank god,” she breathed, dropping a diaper bag on the kitchen table as she nudged the refrigerator door open with her foot. “I need you to come with me,” she said, her voice muffled from inside the refrigerator. “Kyle’s got a fever and daycare had me pick him up early, and then no one was there when I went to pick up the shipment.” She emerged from the fridge with a carton of juice in hand, and Natalie noticed she was breathing hard and sweating. “Now I’m late for deliveries, and I still have to get him to the other sitter.”

“Hold on a minute,” Natalie interrupted. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

Jena shot her a glare as she one-handedly unscrewed the lid of Kyle’s sippy cup and refilled it. “Because this ain’t a one-woman job, and because you’re sitting there on the couch not doing a damn thing.”

Hot rage filled Natalie as she followed Jena down the hallway. “Do you even _hear_ yourself when you talk?” she snapped. “You don’t _get_ to tell me what to do.”

“Actually, in case you hadn’t noticed, this is _my_ home you’re in,” Jena shot back as she stuffed a miniature set of pajamas into the diaper bag. “And that’s my couch you’re on.”

“Isn’t the couch Brady’s?”

“Don’t get smart.” Jena shoved past through the doorway, slamming the door shut behind her. Kyle was beginning to cry, and Natalie wished she could just cover her ears—to drown out both him and Jena.

“Either way, you’re leaving.” Jena gathered her keys up from the table. “You can come with me and get paid, and I’ll drop you wherever you want when we’re done. Or you can just get out. I really don’t care.”

Natalie gritted her teeth together, thinking of her slowly dwindling cash from that last job with Aaron. “Fine,” she spat. “I want to go to the mall. But this better be over fast.”

Jena didn’t reply, instead thrusting the diaper bag in her direction. “Hurry up,” she ordered, holding the door open. “We’re already late.”

* * *

The drive to Kyle’s sitter was quiet, aside from the tinny sound of the children’s song playing on the radio and an occasional squealing of tires as Jena took a corner a little too sharply. Natalie rested her head against the window, quietly seething. How had she allowed herself to get roped into this? Why did she always give in? She tried instead to think of the money—how nice it’d be to hold it in her hands, the security it’d bring. Maybe today she’d actually buy herself something nice for once.

“We’re here,” Jena suddenly announced, swerving to pull over in front of a small house. “Can you run him in? We’ve got to get moving.”

Natalie rolled her eyes, releasing her seatbelt just a little too hard so it clacked against the window as she climbed out of the front seat of Jena’s minivan. Kyle had mostly calmed down on the ride over, but as she slid open the door, he began to fuss again. “Hurry up.” Jena twisted around in her seat, tossing her the diaper bag as she unbuckled Kyle from his car seat.

He began to screech as she lifted him, and she grimaced, shifting him onto her hip and she shouldered the diaper bag and raced up the front steps. “Hey, buddy,” she muttered as she rang the doorbell. “Please calm down.”

But he continued to scream as Natalie rang the bell again. “Is she not answering?” Jena called from behind her, and Natalie turned to see her leaning out the window.

“If she were we’d be leaving already,” Natalie called back, and she saw Jena shake her head as she lifted her phone to her ear.

Turning back to the door, she knocked instead, trying to rock Kyle in hopes that it would calm him down. It didn’t work, and she knocked harder, silently willing the babysitter to just _answer the door_ already.

“Natalie!” Jena was frantically motioning from the van. “We don’t have time for this, let’s go.”

Natalie bounded back down the steps, buckling Kyle into his seat once more. She barely had time to close the passenger door behind her before Jena was speeding down the street.

“There’s a blanket on the other seat,” she instructed. “No, not that one the other one. It’s lighter. Put it over him. No, over the whole seat.”

“Are you trying to smother him or something?” Natalie gripped the headrest of her own seat as she tried to toss the blanket over Kyle.

“Nope.” In response, Jena cranked up the air conditioning, and Natalie shivered at the icy blast. “I don’t want anyone seeing or hearing him. Does he have his juice?”

“Yeah.” Natalie finally got the blanket into place and slid back into her own seat, clicking the seatbelt into place. “Wait, you’re not bringing him along, are you?”

“You have a better idea?” Jena sped through a yellow light, and Natalie stared at her in horror.

“He’s a baby!”

“Yeah, and he needs to eat.”

“You’re seriously going to bring your kid into this?”

“Natalie,” Jena said through pursed lips. “I really need you to shut the fuck up. For just five minutes. Do you think you can handle that?”

For a moment, Natalie considered leaping from the moving vehicle. Or reaching over and punching Jena in the face. Instead, she slumped back in her seat, arms folded tightly over her chest. This could _not_ be over fast enough. She jumped slightly as Jena adjusted the radio, twisting the dial the The Krunch.

“It relaxes me,” Jena muttered as Natalie regarded her with a raised eyebrow. They were in an industrial area now, and as they turned down a deserted side street, Jena suddenly pushed something into Natalie’s lap. “Safety’s on, but it’s loaded. Don’t use it unless you have to.”

Natalie glanced down—and recoiled in horror when she saw a pistol. “Jena!”

“What?” Jena glanced over, and a frown crossed her face when she saw Natalie’s tense expression. “Don’t tell me you’ve never used one.”

“Of course I have!” And it was true– Aaron had taught her the basics a while back, and she had practiced on some bottles in an alleyway. She just hadn’t managed to actually _hit_ any. “I just didn’t think this was _that_ kind of job!”

Jena huffed as she pulled over. “It’s not,” she snapped. “It’s just a precaution. Just hang onto it and keep an eye out.” And she slid out of the driver’s seat, hurrying over to where a figure was stepping from the shadows.

Natalie sighed, glancing up and down the street. There was no sign of any activity, although the pistol was heavy in her hands. Kyle had settled down, at least, not a sound coming from his blanket-covered form. Small favors.

The door to the driver’s seat suddenly opened, and Jena leaped in. “Asshole,” she muttered as she drove away. “Can’t say I blame him though.”

The next several stops went much like the first, and Natalie was quickly growing bored. “How many more of these do we have to do?” she groaned, stretching her legs out.

“Not too many,” Jena replied, turning a corner. “And get your feet off my—”

The ending of that sentence as lost, as three police cars suddenly pulled out in front of them, lights on and sirens wailing. Natalie could only stare in horror as Jena uttered a single word. “Shit.”

And Natalie shrieked, gripping the door handle for support as Jena threw the van into reverse and accelerated backward down the street. Something in her neck popped as Jena slammed on the brakes, whipping the van around like a sports car before tearing off down the road in the opposite direction, the police right behind them.

Kyle had woken up and was screaming again. He had also apparently pulled off the blanket, as Natalie could see his red little face when she turned around. She caught glimpse of the police behind them when she glanced out the back window, and when she heard a sharp metallic pinging sound, a cold feeling seized hold of her stomach. They were shooting at them.

“ _Natalie!_ ” Jena reached over and gave her a sharp nudge. “The gun. The gun!”

She’d almost forgotten she was holding it—but there it was, glinting in her hand.

“The tires,” Jena was saying. “Aim for the tires!”

As the realization spread over her, Natalie froze. No, she tried to say. I can’t. But it was as though her mouth were filled with cotton, and all she could do was stare at Jena and shake her head, wide-eyed and helpless.

Jena rolled her eyes and grunted something intelligible, then jammed a button on the steering wheel and turned the radio to the classical station. “Give me the gun,” she said, reaching for the pistol. “I’ll deal with this.”

And Natalie could only watch in horror as Jena rolled down the window and leaned out, firing a quick shot. “Take the wheel,” she shouted—and let go of it entirely to lean further out.

All of the air had exited her lungs. “Jena!” she shrieked. “I can’t!”

Jena momentarily slid back into the vehicle, eyes blazing. “ _Take the fucking wheel!_ ”

“ _Jena!_ ”

But she had let go again, and they were swerving across the line, and other cars were honking angrily. Natalie grabbed for the wheel in a panic, and somehow managed to wrestle it back on the right side again. The van was weaving wildly, but they were at least out of the danger of a head-on collision—and Jena used the opportunity to hoist herself halfway out the window.

There were several shots, and were the ones hitting them growing less frequent? Natalie couldn’t tell, and she didn’t dare turn around to look—not with them careening down the highway at this speed.

Jena slid down from her perch, breathing heavily as she reloaded. “I know, baby, I know,” she murmured to Kyle, who was still screaming. “Mama’s gonna take care of it.” And then she was up again, firing away.

The highway was splitting up ahead—keep driving out of Stilwater, or back into the city. Natalie chose the latter—easing the wheel gently, but the van still fishtailed, and for one terrible moment, she was terrified they were going to flip.

“Ow!” Jena was thrown back into the vehicle as it righted itself, but instead of leaning out again, she reached under her seat and retrieved a shotgun. Another car was slowly moving along in front of them,  and although she could hardly be considered religious, Natalie closed her eyes and prayed as she crossed over into the opposite lane to pass them.

“Jena,” she pleaded, “we’ve gotta slow down.” Her hands were beginning to shake, and her sweaty palms could barely keep a grip on the wheel.

“Hang on,” Jena panted. “I’m ending this.” And she was out the window again, and Natalie heard several quick blasts. Up ahead, the road was splitting again, with only a sharp turn possible in either direction.

“Hey Jena?” But there was another blast, and then an explosion—and even with her eyes on the road, she saw the glow. And then Jena was back in the van, grabbing the wheel and steering through the entrance of an abandoned construction site.

They came to a stop between a shipping crate and a large stack of pipes. Jena was immediately out of her seat, lunging into the back to unbuckle Kyle from his seat and cradle him in her lap. “Mama’s sorry, baby,” she whispered, holding him close to her chest. “Mama’s so sorry.”

Natalie slumped back in her seat, shaking and weak. Had that even just happened? She felt the need to pinch herself to make sure she was still alive. But she’d just had enough adrenaline pumped through her system to last a lifetime—and for the time being, all she could do was break down and sob.

* * *

“The main thing’s the color and the plates. And the damages, of course.” Hours had passed since their narrow escape, and now Natalie was sitting cross-legged on the pavement outside, absent-mindedly rocking Kyle in his car seat as Jena discussed repairs to the van inside the garage. “I don’t want it recognizable.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” the mechanic was saying. “But to have it done by morning, it’ll cost you.”

“I’m sure.” Jena’s tone was icy. “That enough?”

“That’ll do it,” the mechanic chuckled, and Jena snorted.

“It’d better. Also, fuck this shit up and I’ll be back,” she threatened, and Natalie heard the footsteps headed toward her.

“Hey.” Jena sat down on the other side of Kyle’s car seat. “He still sleeping?” Natalie nodded, and Jena let out a sigh. “I guess you know the mall isn’t happening today,” she said.

“That’s okay.” Natalie glanced away. “I’m not really in the mood.”

“Yeah. I figured.” There was a pause, and then Jena spoke again. “Look—there’s something else.” She began to fidget. “I can’t pay you.” Natalie stared off at the skyline as Jena continued. “We only made it halfway through our stops, and now I gotta pay for this bullshit…”

“I get it.” _It’s not fair,_ she wanted to say—all she’d wanted was to sit on the couch in an empty apartment and watch that obnoxious talk show host crawl into her guest’s lap while he ranted on like a supervillain. And she certainly hadn’t expected to get shot at and nearly arrested for _nothing_. But she was dead tired, and now all she wanted was to sleep for week.

“Aaron’s coming to get you and Kyle,” Jena continued. “I’m gonna stay here until the van’s done. I’ve still got the rest, and I’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

“Sure.” _Please leave me alone._ Luckily, Jena stood back up, and Natalie breathed a sigh of relief.

“One more thing, though.” She hesitated, and her voice dropped. “Don’t hang around outside the church. Go straight in, and leave when you’re done.”

“Why?” Natalie glanced up, and was startled by the expression on Jena’s face—afraid and uncertain.

“It’s just…they were waiting for us.” She scuffed the toe of her sneaker against the payment. “Someone told them we’d be there. They’re watching. And from now on, I’m not trusting _anyone_.”

The lights of Aaron’s truck swung into the parking lot, and Jena nudged her shoulder. “There’s your ride.” She picked up Kyle, murmuring to him as he whimpered in his sleep, then hesitated. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?” Natalie stood as well, watching as Aaron exited the truck.

“For today.” Jena suddenly seemed fixated on her shoelaces. “We wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for you.”

Before Natalie could reply, Aaron was there, demanding to know what had happened, and Natalie took the opportunity to slip away and climb into the truck. All she wanted was to be back on the couch—or she might just fall asleep right here if they didn’t hurry up. But Jena’s warning still ran through her head, and she wondered if their real enemies were outside the Saints—or within.


	4. Thursday, June 21st 2007

The top crate of the stack was teetering dangerously close to the edge. Natalie groaned as she stood on her toes, straining to push it back into alignment. “Does someone want to help me with this?” she grumbled as two other Saints brushed past her, lugging another crate between them. There was no response, and she rolled her eyes, resuming her efforts. It didn’t budge, her sweating fingertips slipping, but another set of hands appeared in her vision, and with a sharp nudge, the crate slid back atop the others.

“Thanks,” she told the Saint who’d helped her, wiping her grubby hands on her shorts as she settled on a nearby pew. They’d been at this for at least the past hour, and every muscle in her body was already beginning to ache. “What’s in these, anyhow?” she asked, tapping the base of the nearest stack with the toe of her sneaker.

“Less you know, the better,” the other Saint told her. “There’s more to bring in, by the way. Before you get too comfortable.”

“Seriously?” She hauled herself to her feet with a huff. “I’ve been here all afternoon, shouldn’t we be done by now?”

The first Saint shrugged. “Ask Mendoza,” he said, already halfway out the door. “Seems like he’s the only one who knows what’s going on around here anymore.”

Natalie turned to where Aaron stood at the back of the church, gesturing as he talked with a small group of Saints. He’d been giving more and more orders over the past few weeks, somehow unofficially slipping into the role of lieutenant. He had also, in fact, been the one to organize today’s task. But, Natalie realized as she checked the time on her phone, she currently held a get-out-of-jail-free card—in the form of Jena’s work schedule and Kyle’s daycare’s hours. Squaring her shoulders, she boldly strode over to where the others stood.

“Aaron,” she began, but before she could get the rest out, there was a crash from the direction of the door. Everything that happened next was so fast it was a blur, but the Saints who had weapons drew them, and Aaron’s arm shot out, pushing Natalie behind him as the sound of heavy footsteps came stomping toward them. Peering over Aaron’s shoulder, Natalie caught sight of the intruder as they came storming into the sanctuary—and her fear instantly turned into confusion.

The faded floral dress the intruder wore reminded Natalie of one her grandmother used to have, but she whipped of her dark glasses, revealing a much younger woman. “Where’s Johnny?” she demanded.

It was hard to take her seriously with the bright yellow flower angrily bobbing atop the straw hat she wore, but Natalie felt a shiver of fear regardless. The look in the woman’s eyes was downright murderous.

Aaron, however, seemed to relax as he stepped forward. “Everyone head back to the crates,” he said calmly, and after a moment’s hesitation, they obeyed. Natalie, however, took the opportunity to slip out the other door, although she paused behind the wall, her curiosity having gotten the better of her. A friend of Aaron’s, clearly—was she a Saint? Natalie couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she seemed familiar.

“Where is he?” the woman repeated, and Aaron sighed.

“He’s not here,” he said softly, and the woman let out a growl of frustration.

“Dammit Aaron, I’m not fucking around here,” she spat, but her voice broke. “I’ve never seen him like this, I’m so scared he’s going to do something stupid, and if you know anything please, just  _tell me_!”

“Look Aisha, I’d help if I could, but I don’t know where he is. He hasn’t been by in days. I thought he was staying with you.”

Aisha? Something clicked in Natalie’s brain, and she dared to steal a glance around the corner. All she could see was that silly hat, but suddenly it was all clear. Aisha— _the_  Aisha! Who had supposedly been dead almost a year, although that obviously wasn’t true. Natalie normally wasn’t one to fawn over celebrities, but she still felt a rush of excitement.  _Aisha!_  Avarice had been the soundtrack to just about every middle school gathering she’d attended, and The Other Six…well, given the events of the past year, she hadn’t had the opportunity to listen to The Other Six the whole way through. But that was the past, and she pressed closer to the wall to listen to the ongoing conversation.

“He was, but he left yesterday and he hasn’t been back since. He’s not answering his phone, what am I supposed to do?”

There was the sound of footsteps, and when Natalie peered around the corner again, Aisha was pacing back and forth.

“Hey, we’ll find him, don’t worry,” Aaron was saying. “We’re almost done here, I’ll get some people to look for him.”

And that was her cue to leave, before she got stuck with yet another chore. She was  _not_  spending her evening trudging through the streets of Stilwater searching for am eccentric, violent gangster—who, it seemed, didn’t want to be found. And so she turned and fled out onto the street.

She settled onto the steps, idly scrolling through her phone as she contemplated walking to Freckle Bitch’s. She hadn’t eaten since that morning, and her stomach had been growling for the past several hours, but what she really wanted was a soda. Cold, refreshing bubbles were exactly what she needed on a day like today—ripples of heat were rising from the pavement, and she could already feeling the sting of a sunburn beginning across her face and shoulders.

Traffic was fairly light at the moment, with only an occasional car rolling past, but when a nondescript sedan with darkened windows came along, slowing down to a crawl as it passed her, she felt a cold prickle of fear run along her spine. Earlier in the day, one of Saints had been talking about being followed home by a similar car—and she had seemed convinced it was a cop. She suddenly remembered Jena’s warning from the week prior about being seen at the church, and the moment the suspicious car disappeared around the corner, she scrambled to her feet and bolted, straight across the street to the mostly-empty parking lot there.

Slumping against the wall, she allowed her breathing to return to normal, but her heart was still thundering away. Lifting her phone, she typed out a quick warning to Aaron. There weren’t many other Saints she knew as well, aside from Jena and Brady, but she added the few numbers she had to the message regardless.  _Weird car outside church. Careful_.

A few minutes passed, but no replies came through. Checking her phone again, she rolled her eyes. Ungrateful. Scanning the street, however, she didn’t see any sign of the car returning. That had to be a good thing—right?

“Hey, I like your nails.”

The voice came out of nowhere and was totally unexpected, and Natalie started so badly she nearly dropped her phone. The window of a nearby parked car had been silently rolled down, revealing the smiling face of a girl about her age, framed by perfect curls. Natalie felt a quick flutter somewhere deep in her chest, instantly ultra-aware of her greasy ponytail and melting mascara. And had she remembered to put on deodorant this morning?

“Thanks,” she said quickly, glancing down at them. She  _did_  like this polish—Jena had come through with her payment from last week, and although it was less than expected, she’d felt that she owed herself glittery pink nails. And only one of them had chipped so far, despite the wear she’d put them through this afternoon.

“My sister took me to get acrylics for my birthday,” the girl continued, lifting a hand to reveal long, shiny purple nails. “I still don’t know if I like them yet.” She frowned, tapping them on the side of the car door, and Natalie wandered a few steps closer.

“They look really good,” she said, leaning down to inspect them. “And happy birthday.”

“Thanks!” Somehow, the girl’s smile became even brighter. “It’s actually not for a few more weeks. I think she just wanted to do something for herself, and used this as an excuse.” She rolled her eyes. “Her boyfriend’s literally five years old, and all she does anymore is take care of him.”

Natalie couldn’t help but snicker. “So what’s she getting you for your actual birthday, then?”

The girl laughed, brushing her hair back from her face with her gleaming nails. “Right? I keep telling her it better be something good,” she chortled.

“So how old are you gonna be?” Natalie asked, leaning against the car.”

“Eighteen!” The girl flashed a grin. “I can’t wait to…” She trailed off with a shrug. “I mean, I don’t smoke. Buy a lottery ticket maybe? Vote, I guess? Is the mayor election even going to happen at this point?”

“Who knows?” Natalie sighed. “Have there any more candidates?”

“Aside from the ones nobody knew existed in the first place? Nope.” The girl shook her head. “Stilwater Gazette says most people aren’t planning on even voting.”

“Great,” Natalie groaned. “Watch as we end up with an empty Freckle Bitch’s bag as our mayor.”

The girl threw her head and laughed. “Right?” she chuckled. “Stilwater Gazette hasn’t had much on the other candidates, but my hobby for the past month has been collecting links for their personal sites and blogs and stuff. I can send them to you if you still haven’t decided.”

“Oh, I can’t vote yet.” Natalie sighed, and the girl frowned as she cocked her head.

“Wait, how old are you?” she asked curiously.

“Seventeen.” Natalie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “My birthday was in May.”

“Ohhhh.” The girl nodded. “So are you a senior this year?”

Natalie shrugged. “I don’t really go anymore.” She suddenly felt vaguely embarrassed, and she quickly looked away.”

“Same!” The girl’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “Well, technically I was homeschooled, but I haven’t set foot inside Stilwater High since freshman year.” She wrinkled her nose. “And good riddance. Did you know it was named one of the worst schools in the state?”

“ _Zoe!_ ”

They jumped at the shout, and Natalie froze as she saw Aisha storming across the street.

“Hey, Eesh!” the girl—Zoe—called, seemingly unperturbed at being approached by a supposedly-dead musical superstar. “This is my new friend…wait, what’s your name?”

“Natalie,” she replied automatically, not taking her eyes off Aisha. Wait—was Aisha the sister Zoe had referred to?

Aisha frown, but flashed Natalie a brittle smile as she rounded the opposite side of the car. “Hi Natalie,” she mumbled. “Zoe, we’ve got to go.”

“Quick, give me your phone.” Zoe lunged for it, grabbing it right out of Natalie’s hands and frantically tapping away at the keys. She handed it back as Aisha started the car, and Natalie glanced at the screen to see a new entry in her contact list. “Text me!” Zoe called as Aisha sped out of the parking lot and away down the street.

Natalie where she was in the middle of the parking lot, stunned and suddenly confused. Aisha was alive. The church was being stalked by undercover cops. And she’d just met a very sweet, interesting girl—and no doubt managed to utterly humiliate herself. What was  _wrong_  with her?

Her face was warm, and she felt a sudden urge to run home and hide her head under a pillow. Rolling her eyes, she set off down the street toward the nearest gas station. Forget about Freckle Bitch’s—this was a job for ice cream.


	5. Tuesday, June 26th, 2007

_Perez just tweeted_

Natalie grinned as she read the message, quickly typing out a reply.

_Cool. Checking it now_

The first thing she’d done after arriving home on Thursday—well, after taking a shower and using up all of Jena’s shampoo in the process, subsequently triggering a huge fight with her—was to text Zoe, and the conversation had hardly lulled since. True to her word, Zoe had sent her the links she’d gathered on various local politicians, and Natalie had spent much of the weekend combing through them. Truth be told, Natalie didn’t find them half as interesting as Zoe had claimed, but the Twitter account of Zoe’s favored candidate had become a personal favorite of hers.Despite an account mostly devoted to her civil service pursuits, the woman was just plain _weird_ —and Natalie couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard.

She quickly typed in the address in the search bar, impatiently tapping her fingers on the battered desk while she waited for the page to load. The ancient computer loudly whirred in protest, but when it finally appeared on screen, she cackled out loud, causing several other library patrons to glare in her direction. Ignoring them, she grabbed her phone and sent another quick message to Zoe.

_Omg_

The photo of the tweet in question hadn’t loaded the whole way yet, but the one below it was a carefully worded message about an upcoming debate and school breakfasts. And as the photo slowly stuttered into view, it revealed Councilwoman Perez ferociously kicking a stack of cereal boxes. _NO refined sugars in our school breakfasts!!!_ the caption read.

_I thought youd like that_

That was an understatement.

_I just want to be in her head for a day. I want to understand what goes in there_

_She_ _s got_ _some good ideas though_ _even if the deliverys silly_ _. Im pretty much_ _definitely_ _decided on her_ , Zoe’s reply read. _Although a lot of good itll do at this point_

Natalie grimaced at the last message.

_Still mad?_

Her day had started with a stream of angry texts as Zoe had woken up and immediately checked the Stilwater Gazette, only to discover that the wife of the late Alderman Hughes had announced her candidacy, running on the same platform as her husband

_OF COURSE!!! Were doomed. Were honestly doomed_

Well, she could hardly argue with that—she hadn’t paid too much attention to the election up to this point, but nobody she’d heard talk about it had anything good to say about him—not to mention that he’d blown up Abby and started this whole mess with the Saints.

 _Not yet_ , she countered. _Election hasnt happened_

A few minutes passed and Zoe didn’t reply, so she set her phone down and returned to the computer, clicking the link to create an account. The page timed out on her several times, but finally, she had her very own Twitter handle and was clicking to follow Councilwoman Perez. She was contemplating what to write for her first tweet when her phone buzzed, startling her from her thoughts.

_I wanted to ask you something_

Natalie frowned.

_Ok?_

Several minutes passed but finally a reply came through.

_My birthdays next saturday and my sisters planning a thing. It’s not a big deal but youre definitely invited if you want to come_

Natalie felt her face break into a smile as she typed her reply. _Yeah totally! When and where?_

_My sisters house. Probably the afternoon. Ill text you when I know more haha._

She was almost giddy as she left the library, practically dancing along the street. When was the last time she’d felt like this? She honestly couldn’t remember. But by the time she had turned along the street to Aaron’s apartment, her excitement had turned to apprehension. She had no idea what she was up against as far as a guest list, but she kept forgetting that Zoe’s sister was Aisha. Every article of clothing she owned was in the backpack she was carrying, and not a single one was suitable for hanging out with musical stars—she’d have to buy a whole new outfit. Shoes, too. She absent-mindedly scuffed a toe of a battered sneaker against the pavement. And she hadn’t even started to think about what to bring as a gift. She’d have to start spending more time at the church, and maybe talk to Aaron to see if there were any extra jobs she could help out with.

No one answered her texts when she arrived outside, so she leaned up against the side of the building, scrolling through her phone until another resident exited, allowing her to dart inside. Upstairs, she knocked, but no one answered. Was anyone even home? She knocked again, louder, and this time, the door swung open to reveal Jena.

“Took you long enough,” Natalie snapped, but Jena walked away without a word—highly uncharacteristic of her. And as she stepped into the apartment, she saw Aaron and Brady sitting at the kitchen table, silent and unmoving. “What’s going on?” She frowned as she wandered closer, but neither of them shifted their gaze from the other.

“Tell her,” Aaron said after a beat, and Brady rolled his eyes.

“Aaron...” he sighed, but Aaron cut him off.

“He’s dropping his flags.” Even as he spoke, his gaze didn’t waver from Brady.

“Wait, what?” Part of her wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Brady had been one of the first Saints she’d ever met, and he wouldn’t just _leave—_ would he?

“It’s not like that.” Brady met Aaron’s stare just as intently. “I'm moving in with James. It's been four years, it’s time.”

“Congratulations,” she said softly. Happy news—so why did Aaron still look so furious? Jealousy, maybe?

“Thanks, Natalie,” Brady said, but his stare didn't waver from Aaron's. “It means so much to have the support of my friends.” Aaron scoffed, but Brady continued. “And yes, the Sommerset store offered me a manager position. And I took it. And yes, it that means I actually _have to work_. Not always be leaving early for jobs that don’t pay.”

“That was _one time!_ ” He’d clearly struck a nerve, as Aaron abruptly stood up from the table. Brady’s face fell.

“Aaron, it’s been more than that, and you know it,” he said quietly. “James’ school bills are due. What else am I supposed to do here?”

“Stay and _help me_ ,” Aaron said through gritted teeth. “You think I don’t know it’s bad? _I know!_ ” His face was turning bright red. “That’s why I’m doing something about it!”

Brady folded his arms across his chest. “Are you?” he asked. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but...” He shrugged. “It’s over. The Saints are done.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Aaron spat, but Brady interrupted.

“When was the last time you went to Stoughton, hmm? Or Poseidon Alley? When was the last time _anyone_ was there? And that’s just the start of it, we’re losing territory fast. And we’re losing people, and most importantly, we’re losing money. It’s just a matter of time at this point.” He stood up as well. “I’m walking away while I still can. And honestly, you should do the same.”

Aaron looked as though he’d been punched in the gut, and for a moment, Natalie was afraid he might actually take a swing at Brady himself. But instead, he turned and kicked his chair out of the way, storming out of the apartment. The slam of the door rattled the entire building as his angry footsteps faded down the hallway, and in Jena’s room, Kyle began to cry. She wordlessly disappeared around the corner, and a few seconds later, Natalie heard the door to her room close.

Brady slumped back down in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Natalie stood where she was, leaning against the sofa with her backpack still slung over her shoulders. She awkwardly wondered if she should leave, but then Brady straightened up in his seat and finally made eye contact.

“James’ cousins will be here in an hour,” he said. He stood and crossed over to the refrigerator, retrieving a can of soda. “We should be able to get it in one trip.” And then he was gone down the hall as well, leaving her alone in the kitchen.

* * *

Sure enough, an hour later, Brady exited the apartment and returned minutes later, two other individuals in tow. Natalie didn’t stir from where she was, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the movie she was watching, but she did steal an occasional glance over her shoulder as they hurried in and out of the apartment, removing various bags and boxes.

“Are we doing the couch last?” she heard one of them say, and she immediately stiffened, preparing to protest, but to her surprise, Brady shook his head.

“Nah, it stays,” he said, and the other man raised an eyebrow.

“You sure?” he said skeptically. “You’ve been on that one James’ using, right?”

But Brady only laughed. “We’ll get another,” he said. “It’s not official until you buy furniture together, right?

“You can’t afford it!”

“We’ll get one when we can.” Brady hoisted up another box. “Not like either of us are ever gonna be home.” He glanced in her direction with a quick smile, and she immediately turned back to the TV. For some reason, she felt vaguely embarrassed, although she was mainly relieved. Most of her nights were spent here at this point, so what would she do without it? Sleep on the floor?

Finally, there was a lull in the activity, and Natalie heard a faint rap from down the hall. “Jen?” Brady’s muffled voice called. “We’re going now.” There was the creak of hinges, and Natalie peered up over the back of the couch to see Jena exiting her room.

“Bye, Brady,” she said, her voice hoarse, and Natalie noticed her eyes looked red and puffy. Had she been crying? “Good luck with the job, and you keep in touch, all right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Brady nodded. “Say goodbye to the little man for me?”

Jena nodded. “You’re both invited to his birthday party,” she said. “Course I don’t know when or where it’ll be yet, but…” She broke off into a short laugh.

“We’ll be there.” They shared a brief hug, and then Brady was heading for the door. He paused midway, turning to Natalie. “Here.” He fumbled with his keyring, and then tossed something to her. She caught it, opening her hand to reveal his key to the apartment. “You’ve got more use for it than me at this point,” he said. “Call me if you need anything, all right?”

Natalie could only nod numbly as he disappeared out the door. From down the hall, she also heard the click of Jena’s door, and she was alone once more. Staring down at the key in her hand, she felt the prickle of unease returning to settle in her stomach. Were things really as bad as Brady said? Losing entire districts? Going broke?

But the more she pondered it, the more it made sense. From what she’d heard, the whole fiasco the other week with Jena’s deliveries hadn’t been an isolated incident. And there were familiar faces from the church she realized she hadn’t seen in a while—had they not been so lucky as her and Jena? Or, like Brady, had they decided the trouble wasn’t worth it?

The heat outside was scorching, but Natalie suddenly felt cold. Curling her legs beneath her, she huddled into the corner of the sofa. Things were bad—that much she’d known all along. Since that day at the church when the word had come that Julius had been arrested. But now, for the first time it seemed there may not be an end in sight.

Six months ago, her year of torment had taken yet another terrible turn. And in her darkest hour, the Saints had found her. Despite it all, she’d found purpose, friendship, and a way to keep herself afloat. And if this truly was the end, she didn’t know what would be left for her.


	6. Monday, July 2nd, 2007

“I still don't understand what I'm supposed to be doing.” Natalie glanced over to where Aaron was crouched beside a box of papers.

“Organizing them.” Aaron's voice was muffled as he leaned further into the box. “Dammit, I  _know_  I just saw it…”

“But organizing  _how_?” Natalie surveyed the messy stacks of paper spread before her across Julius’ desk. “None of these have anything to do with each other, it doesn't make sense!”

Aaron stood up with a groan. “I don't know, Nat, just…” He gestured vaguely as he began searching through a nearby cabinet. “Figure something out. Try to put them in  _some_ order that makes sense.”

Natalie huffed, crossing her legs beneath her. “This is a waste of time,” she complained. Aaron paused to glare over his shoulder at her.

“Weren't you the one who said you wanted more work?” he asked sharply.

“Yeah, because I need the money! I have a party to go to, remember?” Even as she said the words, she was reminded of Brady saying the Saints were broke. Aaron’s thoughts seemed to go there too, as his face darkened ever so slightly as he resumed his work.

“Just do what you can,” he mumbled.

Natalie rolled her eyes as she turned back to the mess. The late afternoon sunshine streaming through the window was making her drowsy, but as the time ticked past, she managed to sort everything into two main categories: Money and Not Money.

“We need to digitalize,” she told Aaron as he moved a stack of boxes to the other end of the room. “This wouldn't be a problem then. It'd all be nice and neat and in its place.”

Aaron grunted. “Too much trouble to maintain a server,” he said. “If it got hacked we'd all be fucked.”

He was always so negative. But before Natalie could retort, there was a crash from the sanctuary. “Now what?” Aaron snapped, straining to push a box onto the nearest stack. “Go tell them to keep it down, will you?”

Natalie rolled her eyes, hopping down from Julius’ desk without a word. She could already hear shouting out in the sanctuary, and she was dreading the thought of having to get in the middle of it. They wouldn't listen to her—no one ever did.

But as she rounded the corner, she froze, plastering herself back against the wall and slowly backing away. “Aaron,” she said quickly as she reentered Julius’ office, “there's cops out there.”

“What?” Aaron was instantly on his feet, pushing past her out of the office.

“Wait!” she hissed, but followed close on his heels just the same. She nearly collided with him as he abruptly stopped, and then he was whirling around, gesturing wildly.

“Get back,” he said through clenched teeth. “Go.”

He didn't have to tell her twice. “Shit, what do we do?” she demanded the instant they were back in Julius’ office.

“Grab what you can.”

“From  _where?_ ” Every surface of the office was littered with papers, and she could only stare around the room in a panic, not knowing where to start.

“ _Anywhere_.” He began sweeping everything from atop Julius’ desk into an empty box, and she had to bite her tongue to stifle the protest as she watched all her hard work go right down the drain.

Shaking her head, she turned to another nearby stack. “These?”

“Natalie, stop asking questions and just  _help me!_ ”

“Uh...Aaron?”

She jumped at the unfamiliar voice, she and Aaron both whirling to face the new arrival.

“Rick, get in here, help us out. Grab whatever you can. The fuck’s going on out there, anyhow?”

The Saint immediately jumped in, quickly shoveling papers from Julius’ desk into the box Aaron held.

“Fuck if I know. Bunch of cops show up yelling about how we have to get out. No one knows whether to run, reason with ‘em, or just start shooting. Pretty sure the first two aren’t working, so…” He shrugged. “Get ready for fireworks.”

Aaron scoffed. “They can’t do shit without a warrant. Maybe we should start shooting.”

But Rick shook his head. “Oh, they’ve got something. Won’t let anyone read it, but keep waving it in our faces.”

“Shit.” Aaron paused, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. “Okay. New plan.” He dropped the box into a nearby crate, and began shoveling in every paper within arm’s reach along after it. “What’re you standing there for?” he snapped, and Natalie and Rick both immediately sprang into action, handfuls and armloads of receipts, envelopes, and papers of various sizes. Finally, Aaron dumped in the last contents of a cardboard box and slammed the lid, clicking it into place.

“Go,” he said, darting back over to the desk. “My truck’s just outside. I’ll catch up.” Nudging open the bottom desk drawer with his toe, he retrieved a bottle of lighter fluid.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Natalie asked as he unscrewed the lid.

“Just go!” he snapped, simultaneously hoisting up another box under his arm as he began to pour the bottle onto the papers left behind.

“Come on, kid,” Rick grunted, already heaving his weight against the crate. Natalie rolled her eyes and joined in, gritting her teeth as she dug her heels into the floor. It was far too heavy for the two of them to lift, but between the two of them, they managed to drag it along.

The plastic scraped loudly across the concrete, and Natalie cringed as they slid it down the hall, carefully making their way toward the door. Where where the cops? And where was Aaron?

“Almost there,” Rick gasped out as they maneuvered it through the door, the beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead glistening in the summer sun. She herself was dripping with perspiration, her legs were on fire, and it felt as though her arms were about to be wrenched from their sockets. Just a little further...a little further more… And they were over the edge of the top step, and as the crate’s weight tipped, it slipped from their grasp, thunking loudly down each step.

They grimly hurried after it and grasped hold of it again, continuing to wrangle it forward. Aaron’s truck was in sight, they were almost--

“Hold it right there!”

And Natalie looked up straight into the barrel of the gun.

She immediately froze, her blood running cold as she lifted her gaze to the face of her would-be killer. But the fear was nearly overwhelmed by the jolt of recognition, and from beside her, Rick put the feeling into words.

“Dex, you  _son of a bitch!_ ”

There was something downright  _wrong_ about seeing him without his trademark purple visor, but there he was just the same, coolly staring down at them.

“Take it easy, Rick,” he said. “I'm gonna need to ask you to step away from the crate.”

“Like hell,” Rick growled. “Listen here, kid, there’s no way--”

His words were lost as a blur of motion barreled into Dex, knocking him to the ground.

“ _Go!_ ” Aaron howled as Dex fought to thrown him off. Rick was already lugging the crate forward as Natalie stood paralyzed, watching Aaron and Dex exchanging blows as they thrashed about on the pavement.

“Natalie!” Rick barked, and she shook herself from her stupor, dashing over to help. Her back was turned, and Aaron and Dex were partially concealed behind another car, but she could still hear the grunts—and whimpers of pain?

“We gotta lift it,” Rick was saying. Somehow, they’d made it to the tailgate of Aaron’s truck.

“On three—one, two…”

But it was too much; she felt something pop in her spine and it was slipping from her grip.

“I can’t!” she cried out—but then another set of hands jostled hers out of the way as Aaron caught it. Several other Saints had also appeared, crowding around the crate to hoist it into the truck. And that was when she smelled the smoke.

Thick black clouds of it were billowing out the door, rising up to stain the bright summer sky. “ _Shit_ , Aaron, what did you  _do_?” she asked—but he was already running back toward the church to gather the papers strewn across the steps—apparently he’d grabbed a few more last-minute boxes. The other Saints were stepping in to help, and within moments, they were tossing it all into the truck along with the crate and climbing in themselves.

“ _Natalie!_ ” Aaron bellowed from the driver’s seat. “ _Get in!_ ” And that was when she heard the unmistakable pop of gunfire.

He didn’t have to tell her twice as she dove for the car door, wedging herself into the front seat alongside another Saint. The unmoving pair of boots sticking out from behind a car didn’t escape her notice as they tore out of the parking lot and down the street. Luckily enough, a voice from the backseat spared her from having to comment on it.

“So, uh, is Dex…?”

“He’ll be fine,” Aaron cut him off tersely. Already in the mirror, she could see similarly-armored figures racing in the direction of the parking lot—surely one of them would be able to help him. But out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Aaron’s hands has he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles swollen and bloody, and she couldn’t help but wince—despite the gun that’d been pointed in her face mere minutes ago.

“I told you we should go digital,” she mumbled as they merged onto the highway—more to herself than anything, but Aaron still tensed.

“Natalie,” he said through gritted teeth, “can you  _please_  shut up?” She rolled her eyes, turning to watch back out the window. He was so  _rude_.

But it didn’t matter. There were sirens in the distance, and in the mirror, she could see the columns of smoke rising up into the sky behind them. The church was gone, she’d nearly been shot in the face by someone she’d once trusted, and now here they were, scattered, driving with no particular destination in mind—and all she she could feel was numb. But despite all the hits that had been coming lately, this one truly stood apart from the rest. And if things didn’t take a downright miraculous turn soon, she could only guess at how much more of this the Saints could take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just thought I would mention that Dex is okay! Or at least he will be--Aaron could never bring himself to actually harm him (and neither could I, haha).


	7. Saturday, July 7th, 2007

“Absolutely not.” Stormclouds gathered in Jena’s face as she shook her head. “I want it out.  _Today,_ Aaron, I’m serious.”

“Dammit Jena, how many times do I have to say it?  _There’s nowhere to fucking move it to!_ ”

It was the day of Zoe’s party, and Natalie was sitting on Aaron’s couch, growing increasingly bored as she listened to Jena and Aaron argue. The topic of their fight, of course, was the stack of boxes sitting in the corner of the living room—all that remained of the Saints’ records. As it turned out, there had been nowhere to move it to after they’d fled the church on Monday—the locks had been changed at the Lopez mansion, and no one had answered the buzzer at the King penthouse, none of their previous codes having worked in weeks. The Price mansion had been a no-go as well—the last time anyone had been there, a realtor had been in the middle of an open house, and Rick had said he’d heard a sold sign had been spotted in the yard. Out of desperation, Aaron had finally brought everything back to the apartment—and Jena was less than thrilled about it.

“It’s evidence!” she was yelling. “I want it out of my home!”

“Yeah, well just remember who’s name the lease is in!”

“I’m raising my  _son_  here, in case you’d forgotten!”

“Do  _not_  play that card right now!”

Natalie cleared her throat. “Hey—guys?” But they ignored her, only continuing their argument.

“What’s  _that_  supposed to mean?” Jena was snarling, and she’d only ever seen that look in Aaron’s eyes the day Brady moved out.

“Oh,  _come on_  Jena, every time you don’t get what you want you bring your kid into it!”

Natalie rolled her eyes, rising to her feet. Aisha’s house was in Misty Lane, and Aaron had promised one of them would drive her there. “Guys!” she yelled—and instantly froze as Jena’s head whipped around, rage filling her eyes.

“ _Excuse me_ , we are in the middle of something here,” she snapped, and Natalie bristled.

“Well  _someone_  has to drive me to my party!” But Jena had already turned around, and now she and Aaron were screaming at each other, their words intelligible as they blended together.

Natalie clenched her teeth, turning back to the couch. “Whatever,” she muttered, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and scooping up Zoe’s gift. “I’ll just figure it out myself.” And she stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door with all the force she could muster.

She wasn’t even halfway down the hallway when the door burst open behind her. “Really?” Jena screeched. “Dammit, Natalie, isn't it exhausting being such an immature brat? Isn’t all this getting old?”

“The fuck did I do?” Natalie shot back, confused. How was the pile of documents suddenly  _her_ fault?

“Um— _the door_? You’re lucky Kyle didn’t wake up, Natalie, or I swear…” Whatever her threat was, it went unspoken, but Natalie felt a hot flash of anger.

“Whatever, Jena,” she snapped. “You’re the queen of tantrums. And Aaron’s right, you play the Kyle card every time you don’t get what you want.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You heard me,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the stairwell, but there were footsteps behind her, and then a hand closed on her arm.

“Get off me!” She tore her arm free, but Jena still advanced on her. She felt the door handle jab into her back as Jena stopped, inches from her face.

“What are you doing here, Natalie?” she demanded. “You’ve been a parasite all year, waltzing in and out like you own the place, but you know what? You don’t live here!  _I_  do! You have a problem staying under my roof with my son, then get the fuck out!”

The space between them was too close, and she felt almost dizzy as she broke out in a sweat. Without even thinking about it, she brought up her free hand and shoved. Jena recoiled, staggering backward—but then she straightened up, and Natalie froze, petrified, as she saw the murderous wrath in her eyes.

“ _Hey! Enough!_ ” Aaron had seemingly materialized between them, his arms outstretched to block them. All down the hallway, doors were open and  heads were peering out. “ _The fuck_  is happening here?” Aaron began, but before he could get another word out, Natalie whirled around and bolted. Through the door, down the stairs, and out onto the street.

She didn’t stop running until she reached the end of the block, darting out in front of an aggressively honking car that swerved around her. She hadn’t realized she was crying, but tears were dripping from her cheeks, and Zoe’s meticulously-wrapped gift was all but ruined.  _Fuck._  She stomped along the sidewalk, her stride slowing as she reached the train station and began to ascend the steps. As she reached the top, she pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Zoe.  _I’m going to be late. Sorry._

She set her backpack on a nearby bench, fishing though it for her mirror--and when she saw her reflection, she recoiled, half considering texting Zoe again to say she wouldn’t be able to make it at all. Instead, the handful of change she scrounged up from the bottom of her bag bought a soda at the faded vending machine, and she was pressing the cold bottle against her swollen eyes when the train arrived.

On the train, she took a chance against the jolting motion to set about fixing her makeup. Once the black streaks down her face were gone—thanks to a dusty tissue dampened with condensation from the bottle—and she’d added a fresh coat of lipgloss, it really didn’t look half bad. Plus, she noted, most of the swelling had gone down. She’d just put on the biggest, brightest smile she could manage, and hope no one looked too closely.

The train was rattling over the bridge to the north side of town when her phone buzzed.  _No problem! See you soon!_  Zoe’s reply read, and Natalie sighed, hugging her bag to her chest as she turned her head to stare out the window. Was she really doing this? She never had imagined this day turning into the disaster that it had. And at this point, it was only the fact that she had nowhere to go back to that kept her from switching trains at the next stop.

All too soon, the train was arriving at the Misty Lane station, and she was wandering along familiar sidewalks. The sun was bright overhead, ripples of heat rising from the pavement, and she was sweating heavily. She groaned a little to herself—couldn’t she catch just one break? It also occurred to her, as she surveyed the street signs, that Aisha’s house was no more than a block or two away from her old house, and an uneasy feeling curdled in her stomach.

But she’d reached Aisha’s address, and she stood at the bottom of the driveway, staring up at the house.

It was a large, sprawling two-story home in the heart of the suburbs—not unlike the one she’d grown up in. A nice enough house, to be sure, but hardly where she’d expect a woman who’d dominated the top 40 charts for the past five years straight to live. Shaking her head, she made her way to the front door and knocked. She nervously smoothed her hair as she waited, and was considering knocking again when the door swung open—and she blinked in surprise as she came face to face with Johnny Gat.

She supposed she shouldn’t have been entirely surprised to see him--he  _was_  Aisha’s boyfriend, after all—but as much as Zoe complained about him, she hadn’t exactly expected him to be at her party. Plus, it was almost unnerving to see him calmly standing there instead of yelling and shooting things. Or knocking her over as he stormed out. She tensed a little as she remembered their previous meeting, but if Johnny remembered the encounter, he didn’t comment on it.

“Lemme guess,” he said. “Natalie.” And he was aware of Zoe’s guestlist? All she could do was nod--this just kept getting weirder. But now he was squinting at her suspiciously, and she couldn’t help but cringe. “Do I know you?”

There it was. She took a deep breath. “Uh...yeah. I guess. From--”  _From the church_ , she’d been about to say, but that wasn’t a subject she was touching with a ten-foot pole—not with Johnny, and not today. “I’m friends with Aaron Mendoza,” she said instead. Recognition seemed to flicker across his expression. “Ah.” And then—finally—he stepped aside, opening the door to allow her step inside. “Well, come in,” he said. “Zoe’s around here somewhere.” As if on cue, Zoe appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Natalie!” She bounded down the steps two at a time and immediately leapt forward to throw her arms around her. Was it weird that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been hugged? She hoped Zoe didn’t notice that she clung a little too tightly for too long, but Zoe took her hand as she pulled away. “Come on, food’s almost ready, and I’ll introduce you to everyone!”

And Natalie found herself swept off through the house in a whirlwind of Zoe’s energy. She couldn’t help but notice that the interior of the house drastically differed from the outside—the decor looked expensive, not to mention Aisha’s various awards on the walls. Sounds laughter and mouth-watering smells were wafting in through the open back door, but as they approached, Zoe hesitated. “Listen,” she whispered. “No one else here knows about Eesh. So...don’t say anything, okay?” And then she was tugging her back out into the bright sunlight.

The other guests seemed to be made up of distant relatives, family friends, a few girls Natalie vaguely recognized from school. She’d been bracing herself all afternoon for scorn, but the outpouring of welcome left her a little stunned. And soon enough, she was sitting in the shade with the best burger she’d ever had, laughing with these people as if she’d known them all her life.

But when the time for gifts approached, Natalie felt her apprehension return. Most people seemed to have brought a combination of clothes, gift cards, and, surprisingly enough, photography equipment. She’d have to ask Zoe about that later. But Zoe was picking up the poor little battered package she’d brought, and Natalie’s stomach turned over on itself.

“ _Ohhhh!_ ” And to her utter relief, Zoe’s face lit up as she tore aside the wrapping. “This is that same color you had!” Monday’s events had seriously disrupted her plans, both money and time-wise, but she’d still managed to get into the local drugstore to pick up the polishes she’d used for her manicure Zoe had admired the day they’d met. She’d thrown in a few other tools and products as well—and had been crossing her fingers that it wouldn’t be met with confusion. “Thank you!” Several other guest leaned in, admiring it as well, and Natalie finally allowed herself to exhale. At least this had been a success.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a happy glow, but as the sun dropped lower in the sky, the guests began to leave. And soon enough, it was just Natalie and Zoe left in the back yard, picking up various plates and cups left behind by the guests. “I’ve got this, Zoe,” a familiar voice suddenly called out, and Natalie turned to see Aisha herself striding across the yard.

No matter how much she tried to inoculate herself to the fact, its was still a shock every time she was reminded that Aisha was Zoe’s sister. And she still found herself staring slack-jawed as she approached. She was wearing normal clothing today, Natalie noted, unlike the last time she’d seen her when she’d looked like she’d raided a closet at an antique store. And she seemed much... _calmer_ , too, although still strikingly beautiful and super intimidating.

“Hi, Natalie,” she greeted warmly. “Sorry I wasn’t around earlier. I hope you had a good time, though.”

All Natalie could do was choke out “Uh—hi...Aisha.”

Her face instantly flamed, but if Aisha noticed, she didn’t comment on it, instead turning to her sister. “Zoe, let me,” she repeated, tugging a trash bag from her hands. “It’s your birthday, go have fun.”

“Like I’ll let you do it all by yourself.” Zoe reached to take the bag back, but Aisha didn’t budge. “Come on, Eesh, you didn’t even get to be here for the party. I’m not making you clean it up.”

“Really, it’s fine. Johnny’s helping, right Johnny?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Natalie hadn’t even noticed Johnny’s return, but there he was, hoisting up a stack of dishes. At the sight of him, Zoe seemed to relent.

“Fine,” she sighed, letting go of the bag. Instead, she turned to Natalie. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

Natalie had been wondering if she should leave, as Jena’s words from earlier slowly trickled into space left where the buzz from the party had been. But as Zoe grabbed her hand and led her inside and up the stairs, her apprehension melted away, and dissipated entirely as they entered a spacious bedroom aglow with the sunset. Natalie was immediately drawn to an array of framed photos on the wall—mainly what appeared to be family events and school functions, with other artier shots in the mix as well.

“You’re a musician too?” She glanced over her shoulder at Zoe—and laughed at her expression of horror.

“ _No._ ” Zoe shuddered, but she was giggling as well. “Just a year of middle school band, and that was  _enough_ for me. Music was always Aisha’s thing anyway.”

“What about these others?” Natalie asked as she pointed to a cluster of portraits. Several were of Aisha, she noted, and she even recognized a few party guests. “Did you take these?” To her surprise, Zoe appeared embarrassed when she looked back over to her.

“A few of them. I can’t even believe I still have them up here,” she groaned.

“They’re really good.” Natalie stepped closer. “I didn’t even know you were a photographer.”

“It’s just a hobby.” Zoe brushed a finger along the edge of one of the frames. “But I am excited to try out my new gear.” Her face suddenly brightened. “Maybe I’ll even…”

But her words trailed off, and as she glanced toward the door, Natalie also picked up on the angry voices floating up from downstairs.

“Dammit Johnny, just  _wait!_  Where are you going?”

She and Zoe exchanged a glance, then tiptoed over to the doorway, hiding around the corner out of sight.

“Wherever I gotta go.”

“That’s not a real answer!”

There was a heavy sigh of frustration. “Look, Eesh, I don’t know. I’ll be back later, alright?”

“‘Later’ as in hours or as in days?” Even though she didn’t know her well at all, the bitterness in Aisha’s voice still broke Natalie’s heart.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Johnny.” The only reply was the slam of the front door, and Zoe’s hand slipped into the crook of Natalie’s elbow, tugging her back as she nudged the door shut.

“Better give her some space,” Zoe muttered. “They’ll fight when he gets back. They always do.” She groaned, crossing the room to slump down on the bench in front of the window. “It’s been like this for months,” she said quietly. “Ever since…” She hesitated, and Natalie dared a guess.

“The explosion?”

“The explosion.” Zoe nodded solemnly. “You’re a Saint—did you know Abby?”

“No,” Natalie admitted, sinking down beside Zoe. “I mean, I knew who she was, but I don’t think I ever talked to her.”

“They were both really close with her. Eesh and Johnny, I mean.” Zoe sighed. “Neither of them are taking this well, and when they’re not fighting, Aisha’s worrying over Johnny, and he’s off…” She shrugged. “Doing whatever he does, I guess. He comes back drunk a lot, and always covered in bruises. And blood.” She gazed forlornly out the window, and Natalie leaned forward curiously.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Zoe’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure,” she said quickly.

“What happened to her?” At Zoe’s confused expression, she clarified. “To Abby. I mean, we all know she survived, but no one knows anything else except that she’s  _gone_ , and the Saints are just…”

_Falling apart_  had been what she was going to say, but all she could think of was the burning church and Jena and Aaron screaming in the hallway, and suddenly present tense didn’t seem accurate to describe something that had already taken place.

Zoe stared down into her lap, her expression unreadable, and Natalie wondered if she’d somehow crossed a line. “Um, well last I heard she’s still in a coma. Once she was stable they moved her to the prison. They haven’t charged her with anything, but I think they plan to. Once she wakes up. If she…”

Her voice grew strangely muffled, then broke off entirely. And Natalie leaned forward, aghast, to discover tears glistening in her eyes.

“Zoe?” she asked anxiously. “What’s wrong?” But Zoe dropped her face into her hands as she began to sob, and Natalie got the horrible feeling it’d been something she’d said. She was debating between attempting to offer comfort and bolting for the door when Zoe lifted her head, rubbing furiously at her eyes.

“It’s…stupid, I’m sorry, I just…” Even through the mask of tears covering her face, Zoe appeared mortified, and Natalie’s thoughts flashed back to her own waterworks earlier that day. Abandoning her thoughts of escape, she slowly reached out to touch Zoe’s hand.

“You can tell me. If you want.”

Zoe’s jaw tightened as she stared out over the yard, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “Abby, she’s...I don’t know. Sorta like Johnny, I guess. Kinda scary, and really intense. But when she’s on your side, you just...” A flash of something akin to guilt crossed Zoe’s face, and she stole a quick glance at Natalie out of the corner of her eye. “Do you know?” she asked quietly. “About me and the Vice Kings?”

Natalie frowned. “I...know the Saints were always fighting them last year. And that they had your sister’s recording contract,” she began slowly. She’d gleaned as much over the past several months. “But they weren’t really around by the time I joined.” She was honestly confused now—what did a defunct gang have to do with Zoe?

Zoe swallowed hard, staring out the window. “Yeah, I was still living out in Saints Row back then. And they had the label, but they were into some other stuff. Human trafficking. Fucked up shit.”

Natalie felt cold. “Zoe,” she whispered, gripping her hand a little tighter.

“Yeah.” Zoe’s hand shifted, fingers curling around hers. “They grabbed me right off the street. Apparently it happened all the time.” She shook her head, eyes were filling with tears again, and Natalie bit the inside of her lip.

“Zoe,” she began slowly, “I am so, so sorry you went through that.” Tentatively, she shifted over to wrap an arm around her shoulders, and Zoe leaned into her.

“But Abby came for me,” she continued, the glow of the sunset lighting her eyes. “She cut through the Vice Kings like they were nothing, and she took me home.” She sighed, glancing down at their entwined fingers. “She’d always check on me, too. Text and see how I was doing. Her and Aisha’d let me hang out with them. And now she’s just...gone.” She’d stopped crying, and when she turned back to Natalie, her expression was solemn. “I’m trying to feel safe again,” she said slowly. “I just didn’t realize how much I was relying on Abby for that.” She sighed. “Maybe I’m just a coward.”

Natalie felt as though she couldn’t breathe. “Zoe,” she said, “you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Right,” she snorted, but Natalie shook her head.

“No, I mean it,” she insisted. She was struggling to find the words, and she had the horrible feeling that no matter what she said, it would come out all wrong. “You’re already incredible,” she blurted out, and immediately cringed.  _Great_. “I mean, with the election and your sister and...and everything, you just...you  _care_.” Her face was flaming, and she was wishing she’d run for the door.  _Why_ was she so  _bad_  at this? “Most people stop giving a damn when they go through shit,” she mumbled instead.

She stiffened as Zoe laughed, but her voice was soft as she spoke. “It’s funny, I always wish I was more like you,” she said, and Natalie pulled back in confusion.

“Me?”

“Yes!” Zoe nodded enthusiastically. “You’re a Saint. You’re the one who’s brave, you’re the only thing holding the city together.”

It was Natalie’s turn to laugh. “Zoe, I spend most of my time getting yelled at. And sorting paperwork.” She wrinkled her nose. “Plus we’re...not doing so great lately.”

“Yes, but you  _try_.” Zoe clasped her hands tightly. “You never stop trying. I love that about you.”

They were curled up together, their foreheads nearly touching, and Natalie felt the flutter of butterflies as Zoe smoothed back a strand of her hair. Somehow, one of her own hands had reached up to cup her jaw, and the space between them was disappearing. For one terrifying moment, she wondered if she was building it all up in her head, but Zoe was leaning into her touch, grasping for her as their lips met.

Maybe everything really was crumbling to dust around her. But here in this room, bathed in love and the glow of the sunset, Natalie was certain she was the happiest she’d ever been in her life.


End file.
